Hey There, Delilah
by Sweet Apple Pi
Summary: A teenage boy tries to run away from the life he knew, and in the process meets one Pokémon destined to change his life forever. Join Lennox as he faces the harshness of life, the difficulty of determination, and the true meaning of friendship. Rated T.
1. Bang!

OK, well, this is my first story on FanFiction. Well, under this pen name. I've tried before a few years ago, and I was so disatisfied with the result that I didn't even want to use that name again. But, that was quite some time ago. I really hope I am better at this now.

So, some housekeeping...

**The One and only Pokémon Disclaimer for the entire story!**

(Mostly due to the fact that I am really really lazy)

Pokémon is trademarked and copyrighted to Nintendo, Game Freak, Creatures, Genius Sonority, Pokémon Co. Ltd. Japan and Pokémon USA Inc. All canon characters (Including all of the current official species of Pokémon as well as human characters from the video games and anime) and places and things (such as Hoenn or the PokéDex, for example) are owned by the aforementioned companies and the author (Sweet Apple Pi) only uses them to show his highly committed fanservice to this franchise. All original characters (Including human characters as well as fanmade Pokémon) and places and things originally created by this author are under the ownership of the author (Sweet Apple Pi), have no purposeful correlation to any other original character by another author, and may not be used without notification of the author.

I think that covers all the bases. Hehe. Yes, there will be fanmade Pokémon, but they do not appear until later into the story.

This fanfiction is rated T. That means that there will be some violence, coarse language, and some adult content. Basically, I wouldn't recommend this to anyone under say 13 or 14 or so... even though you're supposed to be at least thirteen to be on FanFiction, right? crickets

Please read, and review if you want to. Constructive criticism is highly requested, although I like praise too. Flaming will be laughed at.

Oh, and as for the title, Plain White T's _Hey There Delilah_ does make a brief mention later in the story, but I'll make a mini-disclaimer when I get to it. Promise.

So, I really hope you enjoy!

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**Chapter One: Bang.**

I was hiding under the bed when it happened. That's where I was told to hide. All I heard was a bang downstairs and I knew that my life would never be the same again.

It was a few days before Christmas, actually. We just finished putting up the Christmas tree and everything. The lights were really pretty that year - usually, my dad didn't do much more than a half-ass job setting up the lights, but that year, he made it his best effort to make the string of lights even around the tree and made doubly sure that every last green and red bulb was in good working order. He knew how much I liked Christmas. I think most eight-year-olds like Christmas, but I know that now I cannot stand Christmas at all.

But, like I was saying, it was a few days before Christmas, and we set up the tree and Dad made the lights all fancy and stuff. Oh, another thing that I remember about that day was the cookies. Yes, the cookies. They were sugar cookies (which still happen to be my favorite, even to this day), shaped in various Christmas-ish shapes such as evergreen trees with jagged lines to represent the branches or one of Santa's Stantler, except stubbier and more cartoon-like then the actual Pokémon itself. There was a heavy dose of frosting on them, just the way I like it. I remember biting the heads off of one of those Stantler cookies. No real importance at all, I just remember sinking my teeth right where the neck was and munching on the sugary cranium of the Pokémon. Well, if this isn't a tangent, I don't know what is.

Anyway, my father and I were sitting in the kitchen, looking at the Christmas tree with pride, and eating our Christmas cookies with plenty of milk. That's when I heard a knock on the door. Just two cold, loud knocks, not the kind of knock that the neighbor's kids used to do, which had its own rat-a-tat-tat, or like my mom's knock, which was soft and almost sheepish in the sound it gave of, but more of a stern knock that meant serious business. I should've known right then, I told myself for many years afterwards. I should've known then that there was going to be trouble, as there was no one that wanted to do serious business so close to Christmas. Or so I thought. I got up from my seat to walk up to the front door and let the visitor in, but my father stopped me from advancing by placing his arms on my shoulders. Well, I could've still moved had I really wanted to, but it was the feeling that my father emitted from his hands that made me know that I was to sit back down.

My father was a pretty big man, and not just in the eyes of an eight-year-old. He was about six-foot even, from my own recollections as well as stories that I have been told by my mom, and he was quite wide across the shoulders. He wasn't the fittest guy ever, but he definitely was muscular, muscular enough to pick me up and spin me around as if I was a Taillow flying. You would think that someone with an Ursaring of a figure such as my dad could've stopped what was going to happen, but I guess fate is an inevitable biotch when it wants to be. He opened the door only slightly before he turned back around. The last time I saw his face, it was in a look of concern: "Lennox, go upstairs please." I didn't ask why, I just did it. The way he said it gave no free room for questioning. I marched up the staircase and made it into my room, closing the door slowly and quietly behind me. I didn't want to come out as I had no clue as to what was going on downstairs. I put my body flat on the floor and strained to hear what my father and the visitor were conversing about downstairs, although it was in vain as they were speaking softly, making the voices inaudible through the hardwood floors.

It was then that I felt a strange sensation. In retrospect I guess I would have to call it a premonition. I didn't know how or why, but I just knew that there was something bad going on downstairs and it was heading for the worst. I don't even know how to explain it; the air just felt thick and heavy, humid with misfortune. My mind panicked; I desperately thought of something I could do. _Do for what?_ I remember asking myself. _I don't even know who's in trouble! Plus, I'm only eight years old!_ If there's one thing you have to know about eight-year-olds, as if you weren't probably one yourself once upon a time, is that they cannot do much. Sure, they can shout off their times tables, but eight-year-olds are just simply unequipped to handle definite trouble. Since that day, I wish they were.

I just stood there in a sense of self-chaos until something else happened that scared the pants off of me (well, figuratively, not literally. Although at that time I didn't care what kind of clothes I had on or off). A lamp down in the living room fell, hitting the floor and shattering in many pieces. Well, that's what I found out later. I couldn't recognize the sound upstairs, which made it about twenty times scarier than it should've been. I jumped in sheer terror. I was sweating bullets in late December. I felt like crying right then and there but then another premonition came over me, that the broken lamp was the least of my troubles. But this time, rather than just this feeling, there happened to be a guiding voice leading me to under my bed. This one is hard to explain too. Maybe I'm just a loony, and there were no premonitions, and I just created that memory to help me figure out why I survive, but nonetheless I swear that to this day I remember something within me telling me to get myself under my bed. I had to push a few things out - a couple of board games, a book on Pokémon, a picture of a snowman I drew last week in school (boy, it's amazing the things that we remember) - and I shoved myself under that bed. I was shaking by then, quite violently, if I remember right, and that's when I heard it.

Bang.

It was just one clean shot, right through the heart, according to what the doctor told my mom. I sat there in horror - I knew what sound a gun made. I lost it then. Tears were cascading down my round face, hitting the floor under my bed. Every muscle in my body was limp, preventing me from scratching my nose let alone try to escape. I just sat there and silently bawled until who-knows-when. I guess I eventually passed out, and woke up the next morning at my mother's house.

I was excited about Christmas that year too. I wanted a bicycle. My dad was going to buy one the next day.

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Just an introduction to the character, Lennox, therefore it's a little on the short side. I like the name, don't you? Anyway, It'd be appreciated if you review, but if you don't want to I won't be truly bothered. Thanks for reading!


	2. Seven Years Later

Hey homies! shot Yeah, so I only put up the first chapter a little while ago, but I liked this chapter a lot, and I had it done, so I was like, "meh, what the hell." Plus, my iPod's still charging.

Before the chapter starts, I'd like to thank my two first reviewers for, well, reviewing. I read both of your stories and I am glad to say that I liked both of them. I don't remember your names, but you guys rock. Thank you.

Also, a random tidbit for you to think about: "If someone with multiple personalities tries to commit suicide, is it considered a hostage situation?"

Anyway, without further ado, here is chapter two!

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**Chapter Two: Seven Years Later**

"Lennox, what are you having for dinner?"

"Ramen." Oh ramen, my one and only true love. Its slurpy goodness will always have a fond place in my heart.

"You can't live on ramen, sweetheart," my mother critiqued. She was a short woman, too short if you ask me. I'm not being rude, I'm just saying that if a woman is going to be only five feet and two inches at her peak she should not have the energy of a little kid on a sugar high. My mom was the kind of lady that could do a million things at once: do the laundry, make the dinner, schedule appointments, balance the checkbook, iron a blouse, knit a sweater, buy a birthday present for a distant relative via the Internet, write an absence excuse to the school explaining I was not there because I was uncontrollably vomiting for six hours straight, save the world from global warming, and juggle chainsaws all while criticizing me on my meal choices.

"I know you don't like hamburgers," my mom explained, "but you know Brett does. I just don't see why you don't make something a little bit more filling or something. There's chicken patties in the freezer, or you could have some leftover pizza." With my mom leading the busy life she leads, she has never been able to sit down and enjoy a bowl of ramen. Poor Mom. I rolled my eyes as I opened up the pantry door, fishing through the cabinets to find a package of chicken-flavored ramen to feast on.

"Hey mom, I'm home." I steamed a little at that comment as Brett entered through the kitchen door. Brett is my brother… well, not really. My parents got divorced when I was very young, and my mom got remarried to Rick, Brett's father. I only had to see him every so often when my dad was alive, since I would constantly switch between houses, but after my father's death I had to put up with him. He always called my mom "Mom" instead of "Lillian," which got on my nerves, since she's not his mom. It's not like I call his father "Dad;" I call him "Rick." Brett was three years older than me and was the jock type to say the least. He kept himself busy - if he wasn't doing football, he was doing wrestling, if he was not doing wrestling, he was doing baseball, if he was not doing baseball, he was doing football camp. Consequently he's a big kid, with bulging muscles and a matching appetite. Of course he would like hamburgers. "Hey Lenny."

"Hey Brett," I muttered. I didn't like talking to him much. To be honest, there are walls with better personalities than Brett. Big dirty brick walls with gross scratches that little kids bounce balls off of.

"Whatcha do today, play chess with your dork friends?" Brett solemnly believes all kids that are not on a sports team are chess-playing dorks. Well, it does make sense to him, as the only people he associates with are involved with sports. All of his friends are either on the football, wrestling, or baseball team with him, and everyone else he pretty much bullied at school. Even his girlfriend is very into volleyball and soccer. I never got the concept of chess, to tell the truth. I never could remember how any of the pieces moved.

"Yeah, it got so heated up we had to use our inhalers to catch our breaths." I tried to make the sarcasm really clear and easy to grasp, but I had a sinking feeling that he thought I was telling the truth.

He gave a quick loud laugh to show his amusement at my statement. "You guys are such dorks." He doesn't even know who any of my friends are.

* * *

Dinner was so-so, I guess. For the beginning part, at the very least. By now Rick was home too. Rick and Brett were living proof that genetics clearly exist - Brett must've been conceived by putting Rick in a Xerox and resizing him at eighty percent. Rick also happened to be a very sporty kind of guy and was into athletics a lot. His muscles, from eons of working out at the local gym, are even larger than Brett's, making him look like a talking Slaking with clothes on (during good days, of course). Unfortunately, he ate like a Slaking too. I sat there sick to my stomach as him and his probable product of asexual reproduction gorged themselves with hamburger after hamburger. I could never eat them myself - I was never big on beef, with no clue as to why. Even the ramen did not taste as fantastic after watching the burger grease drip down their chins and the ketchup drop in globs on their muscle shirts, staining them. The worst part was that my mom didn't care. Her love for Rick must be quite strong, too be able to put up with two giant slobs like the two of them. Maybe my mom was dropped on the head as a child or something. I know, what a terrible thing to think about your mom, but these two were just plain gross.

I'm built a lot like my mom, actually - we're both tiny and frail. Even if I wanted to be on the football team like Brett, I would've never made it. At least I'm not as short as my mom, as being five foot six for a freshman is not bad at all, at least at our school. I have really small feet, however, and at my house it's very obvious, with my miniscule size six shoes running away in fear at the clones' size fourteen shoes. It's disgusting how anyone can have feet that enormous.

"So, Lenny, what'd you do today?" Rick asked me between mouthfuls of his cow ass sandwich. I just wanted to add_ play chess with your dork friends?_ to the end of that. Yes, I know that Rick does try to like me, he drives me to my friends' houses, and he gives an ample allowance, but I think that, like Brett, Rick just seems to notice that he's the jock and I'm the nerd of the family. He always paid more attention to Brett's victories than my good grades, but I guess I just accepted that as part of life after I moved in permanently. He has always made suggestions of my sub ordinance: "Nah, Lenny doesn't wanna go to the game, that's not his kind of thing." "Brett, help me move this refrigerator. Lennox, you can go inside and help your mother with dinner." Not that I'm angry that I wasn't included in those activities - Rick's right, I wouldn't be happy in either of those situations anyway - it's just that the way he says it makes me feel that because I don't play several sports and am not very useful at manual stuff means that I'm less of a person than him or Brett.

"Lenny, I actually got a letter in the mail today," my mother randomly said in the middle of dinner. That made the ramen taste putrid. "From the school to top that. It says you're failing a class."

I turned redder than the underside of an Electrode; I knew exactly what she was talking about. But still, I tried to pawn away from the subject. "You sure it's not Brett?" My step-brother was about as useful in algebra as I was in tackle football.

"Oh, don't worry, I checked," my mom retorted, casting a quick glance at Brett. The last thing she wanted to see was that Brett was failing out of his senior year at high school. (Oh well. Turned out that the school mailed his fail letter the next morning.) "It's not like you're failing out of an academic class. The school said that you're failing P.E." I literally died in my chair - the last thing I wanted Rick, or anyone to hear, is that I was failing physical education. I just didn't feel like participating most classes, it was usually something stupid like badminton or floor hockey. It's not like I couldn't do anything that they told me to; I just didn't see the point in running around in circles for a grade.

Surprisingly, Rick seemed to take it okay. Well, until I heard what he had to say on the subject. Without even looking up from his burger, he simply replied, "Well, it's not like it's Lenny's fault. We can't help it if he's gay."

I literally dropped my fork. The ramen was metaphorically rotting in the bowl. I could not believe what I had just heard at all. So, that's what Rick has thought of me this entire time. Seven years. Seven years he has lived with me and thought that the totally "obvious" reason I had no interest in sports or trucks or westerns was because I was a homosexual. That did it. My face was boiling over, I couldn't stand the idiocy of my household any longer. In my rage I tried pushing the table over, but it was made of a strong durable cedar, so it didn't really budge at all. Tears welling in my eyes, I just ran to my bedroom to avoid further embarrassment.

My room was small, but it was one of the few things I liked in my house. The walls were painted a plain white, but there was barely a plain white spot on them. In my free time I enjoyed decorating the walls with doodles of random stuff. Like, really, random. A noticeable doodle on the wall I was facing was a guitar that I was looking at in a magazine that I wanted for my birthday one year (of course, I got an air hockey table instead. Rick thought that if I didn't like real sports then I must love fake ones.). On another wall was a really bad attempt at drawing a Pachirisu. The one eye was much bigger than the other, and its teeth were too big. It's not like I'm a good artist or anything; drawing on my walls was just something to do. It was more interesting, in my opinion, than posters of athletes or shockingly vivid colors.

I flopped onto my bed and bawled like never before. I wasn't much of a crier, but I felt like I was just rejected by my own family. Of course, I was rejected seven years ago, but right then it was all the same to me. I didn't want to talk to anyone at that moment. I silenced my cell phone so I wouldn't want to try to talk to my friends in such a miserable state. I lay on the bed and just sulked about how crappy my life was.

_Hell, maybe I am a queer,_ I thought to myself. _Maybe there is something wrong with me. I don't like sports, I don't like the girls Brett brings home, I don't think I like anything. Maybe I should just ki-_ No! I didn't want to think about those kind of thoughts at all.

Just then, I heard a knock on my door. I could've been my mom, or Rick, or even retarded Brett for all I knew, but I did not care at all. "Fuck off!" was all I screamed. _Mental note: learn how to deal with people._

But then I started to think about things more intricately for a minute. _Maybe I don't have to learn how to deal with people. Well, at least not these freak shows._ I had no clue as to whether I decided to group my mother in that category, but I was moody and all three of them seemed like antagonists at the time. I lifted my head from my pillow for the first time in an hour and forty minutes, as according to my alarm clock, now reading 7:30. I sat myself up and looked out the window. _Yes! The window! Thank all forms of goodness that I'm on the first floor!_

I quickly emptied my school bag and started loading stuff I knew I would need to run away. My brain was not thinking rationally at that time (and I am forever grateful for that); all I wanted to do was get away from these homophobic ay-holes. _Cell phone. Important._ I dropped it in, still on silence. _Wait, they'll try to track me with it if they can't find me!_ I took the cell phone out and threw it in my garbage can. I opened my drawer and pulled out some clothes and shoved them in my bag. I had to wear something, no? I then put a few other things in there - a pocket knife I once received from Rick (the one he gave Brett was much better, but whatever.), a bag of spare money I had hiding in my sock drawer, and some old candy I had lying around from Halloween a few weeks ago. Yay trick-or-treating!

As I looked at the setting sun from my window, I knew I only had a few more hours to prepare. Like I was staying another day in this house? Hell no. But, like any good action star knows, the best sneaking out is done at night.

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Before I get comments about this, I would like to say that the opinions of my characters do not exactly mirror my own opinions, especially those of Brett and Rick. Homophobia and gaybashing is not cool at all, and Lennox gets really upset by that because he realizes that Rick thought he was gay because he's more of an artsy kind of guy than a sporty one.

Once again, thanks for reading! Please review; it would really make my day.


	3. Thy Savior Shalt Not Peck Mine Eyes Out

Hello guys! Sorry this chapter took me so long to write. Actually, it didn't. It took about the same time as the other chapters, it's just that with my busy life and all it took forever and a day to actually sit down and do it. But, trust me, this one is good. It actually has Pokémon in it! Fwee!

Oh, and a note: Don't expect Chapter 4 before Friday, May 9, as that's the date for my Advanced Placement European History exam (ew, AP Euro!) and I am going to be studying BIG TIME for it. I have a chance of actually getting a five! (out of five, not one hundred.)

So, without further ado, here is Chapter 3!

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********Chapter Three: Thy Savior Shalt Not Peck Thine Eyes Out**

It was ten thirty, and outside of my window I could see that the suburb in which I have lived in for the past seven years was cold, dark, and bare. The lights in the identical two-story houses were out, my own house likewise. All of the cars were parked neatly into their respective driveways, awaiting tomorrow's commute. Even the flowers seemed to be asleep in the darkness of the night. Most of the people in the neighborhood were asleep too, even at this hour. You might occasionally see a television light flicker in someone's bedroom across the street, but I knew for sure that Mom and Rick were way past asleep, and Brett was probably in his room talking to his girlfriend on the phone, telling her about how he farted in study hall or something. I knew that if I had any chance of escaping it would be now.

I sat up on my bed, having been lying down on it for some time. I looked around the room in its darkness once more to see if there was anything else I needed to bring with me. Having decided that there wasn't, I slowly opened the window, making sure that all noise made was extremely minimal. The last thing I needed was someone catching me while I was trying to escape my life. Then I noticed one thing that I definitely did not think of.

_The screen. Damnit._

The screen of the window stared me in the face. Although it kept bugs and random wild Pokémon out, it kept me in. Not really knowing how to take the screen out, I sat down in my chair to think, shivering from the brisk November air that entered my room. _That's what I need - a sweatshirt._ As I pulled on a black hoodie that hung off my chair as if it was hanging on for dear life, I tried to think of what I could do about the screen that prevented me from accomplishing my current goal.

That's when I was struck with a metaphorical lightning bolt of good ideas. You know, like when you're sitting in history class thinking that the Boer Wars were fought between a herd of Piloswine and the teacher asks you why New Imperialism was so important to Europe and you're like "Uh, I don't know," and then a millisecond later it just hits you like an army tank? That's the kind of thing that just happened to me. I fished through my backpack and found the pocket knife I put in there a few hours ago. I flipped it open - being careful not to slice myself, as I didn't really use it often. I then stabbed the screen, although I quickly retracted my arm, remembering that I must keep quiet. I then started again, using the knife slowly and carefully to cut a hole in the screen large enough to fit my ninth grade body through. When I was done, there was a nice open space where the cool night air drifted through. I put my arm out, just to make sure it was real. _Oh, this is real all right,_ I thought.

I took a deep breath. My heart was pounding like a timpani against my chest, as it was not frequently that I did things like, you know, run away from home. It was exhilarating as much as it was out of my comfort zone, however, and for the first time in a while it seemed as if I was doing something of importance. Boy would Rick be surprised tomorrow morning. _Actually, he'd be happy since he wouldn't have to deal with his "queer" stepson anymore._ I clenched my teeth at that thought - just thinking about that meathead's ignorance made me irritated. Without further ado, I took my backpack and tossed it out the window, hearing it make a soft thud in the hedges below. I then slowly lifted my leg and stuck it out the window, being careful not to let it bang against the side of the house. I hoisted myself so I could get my body through the hole. The nighttime coldness was much more evident now that I was outside (would you believe it!). As I tried with great effort to get my other leg through the hole I created, however, my own clumsiness did me in as I stumbled and fell out of the hole in the window and harshly landed in the hedges growing right next to the side of the house. "Sonnuva… ARGH!" I hiccupped right after that outburst, however, as if it was my body telling me that I must still be quiet, not that I cared at the moment as my butt hurt quite badly from the fall. I quickly hushed, cursing myself in my head for being such a klutz. Or maybe I was cursing at myself for being loud. Or maybe it was both. _Probably choice number three…_

I felt like dead weight lying there helplessly in the hedges. I tried to stand myself up, although sitting there, albeit uncomfortable, caused much less effort, and I retrieved the bag that I threw out the window. There were pine needles all over it - truly characteristic of the evergreens along our house - which I brushed off quickly, being a little compulsive when it came to keeping a tidy appearance. I carefully got out of the bushes, trying not to make too much sound. I rubbed my butt, not like you needed to know that, as it still hurt from my fall out the window. I quickly glanced, but amazingly it seemed as if no one on the street heard my embarrassing stumble. With the backpack in its right place on my back, I walked away from my house, wait, scratch that, my prison, and if I remember right, and trust me, my memory has not failed me yet, I did not look back at all upon my departure.

* * *

"I should've brought a flashlight," was the first thing I muttered in what seemed like eons. Wanting to escape the sight of late night drivers, I decided to venture into the woods nearby our suburban development. As I stepped on yet another branch and consequently breaking it, I tried to remember something I heard about the forest… _"The forest is really scary at night,"_ I remembered a friend telling me a while before then. His name to this day escapes me. _"My dad's a Pokémon Ranger, and he once told me that someone was in the forest at night, and wild Murkrow pecked his eyes out. By the time my dad got there, he already bled to death through his eye sockets!"_ Standing right then and there, in the fabled woods themselves, I shrugged it off as a tall tale. _Bled to death through his eye sockets? Yeah, right._ However, as I ventured through the woods, it did not get any lighter, and my slight apprehensiveness did not get any subtler.

I kicked a rock, or what I thought I could see as a rock, as I passed my way through the mosh pit of trees that surrounded me from all sides. Pokémon didn't really attack at night, did they? I was pretty sure that they just fell asleep at night, like humans. Of course, as if I wanted to contradict myself, I thought of Hoothoot, the owl Pokémon that only came out at night. And Misdreavus, the ghost Pokémon that wailed horridly at midnight hours. And Sneasel, the Dark-type Pokémon that could slice your throat so quickly that you wouldn't notice what had happened. My palms, as if out of nowhere, started to sweat. For being so cool out, I was baking like a batch of cupcakes. I involuntarily shook as I marched on further away from my known suburbia, into a land of wildness and Murkrows that pecked your eyes out.

"Oof!"

There we go, stupid klutz Lennox in action yet again. I landed face first on the ground of the forest, almost believing a bug crawled into my nose. I got myself up and rubbed my shin that blindly stumbled over a log that just so happened to be blocking my simple path. I could feel that it was bleeding a little, but it was not like I could do anything about it. It was a scrape, they heal quick enough. Right about then was when my heart skipped a beat, however.

There was a rustle in the bushes nearby. The air around me turned colder than Snowpoint City. I choked on nothingness; I was totally incapable of breathing. My heart thundered out the drum beat of a tribal dance, and my mind was racing with images of my dismembered eyes staring at myself as I bled to death from the eye sockets. I tried to run, but I felt like a Slugma cooled to stone. Moving any part of my body was futile.

All because of a single rustle too. But my sense of premonition seemed to know that the rustle I heard was not a good rustle, but on the contrary was a very, very, very bad one. Tears started to run down my face as a paw came out of the bush. It was a large paw, with long slender digits planting themselves firmly into the ground. The creature was embracing itself to get ready for the strike. At the very least, the tears told me that I was still alive, which I was not sure of at that point. Another paw came out of the bush, and that was when I remembered totally pissing myself. Hey, I thought you'd want to know. Unfortunately, despite that, I did not feel much warmer.

That was when it jumped. Its cry filled the night air as it lurched onto me. The weight of the body felt like I was hit with a bag of sand, and in response my knees instantly buckled. I stumbled onto the ground once more, except this time my back took the majority of the fall, sending a rush of pain through my body. I felt the rough, dirty fur of my assailant as it gnawed away at my sweatshirt. "Raticate!" the attacker cried as it continued its ripping as it took my shirt apart, exposing my bare chest to the air. The only way I tried to resist was to close my eyes, to make sure they wouldn't be pecked out by this cretin. I was bawling; I was sure that my time was over. I thought about how awful my life was, how even Mother Nature could not accept me and made this beast take my life, and how even though I had a giant rat on me I felt relieved. Relieved that the end was near.

The sound of the attack was the first thing I heard. Expecting the Pokémon to start gorging at my still-beating heart, I was confused as to why ripping through my rib cage didn't hurt as much as mass culture wants one to believe. I opened my eyes and was shocked at the fact that the attack didn't come from my assassin. It knocked the Raticate right off of my chest, letting it spin off and crash into the log I tripped over. I slowly tried to sit up, still in pain from my fall, as I watched my savior attack the Raticate with blinding beams of energy. No, really, blinding. My eyes would've probably rather have been pecked out at that point.

The Raticate, unfortunately for my hero or heroine, was one tough cookie. The tan-colored rodent shook off the attack, and even in the dead of night you could see it bare its fangs. It lurched forward and besieged its opponent, bring claws and teeth into the brawl. It really looked like it was winning, too. I started to cry again - the only reassurance I received from this hero was that the Raticate would have an appetizer before the main course. Of course that would just mean that there'd be leftovers. As if the tears were a trigger, the light came again, hitting the Raticate square in the face. The Pokémon was smashed into a tree, and after a thud, gravity started to pull the rodent towards the leaf-covered ground, the body lying limp in the wet ground of autumn. The Pokémon slowly got on its four feet, and from so close you could see the blood that stained its face. Its eyes stared in the direction of its opponent, wide in fear. As the attacks seemed to cease from the other being (my money's on a Pokémon… hopefully not a Murkrow…) for the moment, the Raticate took its chance to swiftly flee, entirely forgetting about its fifteen-year-old midnight snack.

I looked wearily at my savior in the darkness of the night. It was a small creature from what I could see, and the darkness prevented me from seeing much. It tried walking its way over to me, but, as irony would have it, it stumbled over the same log I stumbled upon earlier. I tried getting up to help the poor thing, but sleep was catching the best of me…

* * *

Good chapter, huh? At least I thought so. Anyways, once again, thanks for the reviews (Minnalee's especially; they always make me smile), and keep them coming! So, who is the mystery Pokémon? Guess you'll have to find out in Chapter Four! Better idea! Place all bets... in the reviews! I'm a genius!

_Edit (May 2): Urgh! I swear I put the break at the end of the chapter! FanFiction annoys me lol. Also forgot the Chapter Title at the beginning (Thx Damned Lolita, I like it too), but that's my fault unfortunately._

Anyways, thank you for reading, whether you review or not. Peace!


	4. It's What You Do To Me

Hey homies! /shot/ Yup, well this isn't a new chapter, but I wanted to rewrite Chapter Four really badly because I didn't think I did a good job. Then, as I read it over, it turns out that I did like Chapter Four anyway. Go figure. Well, the changes are really minor, but if you want to refresh your memory as to what happened, do feel free to read it again!

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Plain White T's or their song _Hey There Delilah._ Even though it is the name of this story. I just like that song, even though _Write You A Song_ is a much better yet underappreciated song by that group. Anyway, they're not mine. They are owned by their record company until their fangirls find a way to steal them away. I'll be sad.**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**It's What You Do to Me**

I don't remember what exactly woke me up - maybe it was the sun starting to break over the distant horizon, or maybe the rustle of leaves as a Caterpie slithered by, or maybe just my conscience coming back to life to realize the horror of what happened last night.

My eyes open as little slits at first, absorbing the dim ballroom light of the early morning, and then eventually widen to take a full glimpse of the same spot in the forest where I was ambushed last night. I put my hands on the damp leaf-covered soil and pushed myself on two legs. I glanced at the trees that encompassed me, then down at the log that I tripped over just a few hours earlier. There was a finish of dark red on the one end of it, but it didn't connect in my mind that it came from either me or the Raticate.

I brought my hands up to my eyes, rubbing the crust out of them. There was not much of it however; I probably did not get much sleep. I yawned - it was a long exasperated one - to wake myself up even more. It was then that I heard a mumbled cry.

I turned my head to the side to see what made that sound. I stayed cautious, as I didn't want to encounter another assailant. Or a Murkrow, as I still wasn't just yet over my fear of them either. As I stepped closer to the generator of the noise, the leaves squished against the mud, making a_ fwoop_ sound. Again, I'm just throwing in random details I remember. In life, it's always the important stuff you forget, never the details.

I see the source of the sound quickly, lying much more still than a sack of potatoes. It was a small fragile figure; it was very mutilated. The white body was soiled with coats of dirt brown splashed on and blood red scratched in cruel patterns. Even the red growths on the top of its head were bruised and bleeding. It's forest green hair was in a mess, long and tangled, infiltrated by twigs and leaves. On its pale face, small eyes were struggling to open. The body in general was limp, unwilling to move. As I stood above it as a sun looks upon her planets, I thought about what kind of creature would possibly do that, to purposefully harm and attack another.

_A Raticate._

It hit me like a Volt Tackle, as I stood there in dumfounded shock. I held back tears as I bent down to pick up the poor creature. Its body was a bag of china - it was so easy to pick up, but if you dropped it, you knew that everything would go down the toilet from there. I pushed its hair back to look at its pale face. _This is what saved me from that Pokémon last night,_ I thought to myself. _Well, then again, it's a Pokémon itself. What's it called again?_ Despite my best efforts, the name of this specimen of Pokémon escaped my mind.

"Well, you're definitely not a Houndour." My next door neighbor had one, the bastard. All the thing would do was yelp and breathe fire. Not like you can expect much more from a Fire-type anyway. But nope, this Pokémon didn't even look capable of breathing fire. Of course, identifying it was the least of my worries. _Where do they send hurt Pokémon?_ I asked myself. I was pretty sure that Pokémon didn't go to the hospital… there were places for them…

_Pokémon Centers!_

That was it. Every year the first graders go to the local Pokémon Center to look at the Pokémon and stuff. I don't really remember the time my first grade class went to the Pokémon Center, but I do recall one boy that was bitten by a resident Bidoof. I really do not have any other memories of a Pokémon Center. Mom and Rick never had any Pokémon at the house. Rick claimed that they were a waste of money. Then again, he wouldn't know a Magmortar from a Magnemite.

"Um, Medicham?" I guessed again. On a quick afterthought, however, I remembered that they were gray - and much larger. Well, no matter what kind of Pokémon it was, I had to bring it to the Pokémon Center. It was still very early, as I detected from the sun's low position in the sky, on the bellybutton of the horizon, so no one would know that I was even missing yet. Going to the local Pokémon Center would be perfectly fine right now. No one was probably even up at my house yet, as it was Saturday. I made my way back to town; I was pretty confident as to the whereabouts of the Pokémon Center, although having only been there once.

"Togetic?" No, it couldn't be. They have wings. The bloodied Pokémon was still passed out in my arms, making small noises occasionally as I headed out of the forest, about a mile from the town's main drag. After much effort, it eventually opened it eyes. I could tell it was exhausted just from doing that. Its eyes were mesmerizing, to say the least. They were a million colors in one, but stunning, and definitely not freakish. I stopped for a minute, captivated by the eyes. My knees were weak - I had to break from its stare to continue ahead. What a strange Pokémon.

"Milotic?" Hell no, why did I even say that? Milotic was like a sea serpent thing, and supposedly considered the most beautiful Pokémon in the world.

After taking a few side streets, still waking up with the occasional pass of a car, the Pokémon Center was within sight. _Why didn't I ask for a ride?_ I pondered to myself, but it was the same reason that I eventually came up with to excuse myself of not running to the Pokémon Center in a mad dash - although this Pokémon needed immediate medical attention, I couldn't help but feel that it was going to be all right anyway. It's like I knew that this poor creature would survive, that things were going to be all right. Trust me, it was weird, and you probably wouldn't get it.

The Pokémon Center is a decent-sized building. It isn't right next door to any other buildings, giving the place an essence of space, in a way. You know, how like places that are squished in by neighboring structures seem a little lackluster and mediocre? This place wasn't like that. It was a newly modeled building. You could tell that the paint was not more than a couple of years old, the ostentatious reds and the pulsating whites creating a medical cross with a PokéBall in the center, the international sign for the Pokémon Centers (I think). They must've redone the Pokémon Center since my trip there in elementary school, as there was no way that the paint stayed that bright in the time lapse of eight years.

I walked through the parking lot outside. There were not many vehicles to walk through or around - then again, it was about five thirty in the morning. The place was easily four stories tall. I looked down at my hero, at its bloodied face, and the eyelids, as the mesmerizing eyes were too weak to stay open for long. I took a deep breath and walked through the automatic sliding doors, the ones that brought me right into a place I was totally uncomfortable in. Of course, with the life I had, I was used to it by then.

It had the invisible aura of a hospital, as that was what it essentially was. The empty chairs in the front room called to be occupied for half-hours at a time, with the old copies of _Trainers' Weekly _practically begging to be leafed through yet again. The smell of Febreeze was noticeable, and it made me think of the kind of smells that came through this room every day that needed to be covered up by aerosol. I decided I really didn't want to know.

The only other being in the room was a young lady at a counter directly in front of the entrance. She was in her twenties, or so it seemed, and she seemed incredibly bored, as it was early and the room had a drought of people. She had her headphones in, probably listening to an mp3 player, and was probably text messaging someone, as deduced by the rapid fire of her thumb pressing the number keys on her cell phone. She looked up to see me and the Pokémon, took out her headphones, and clicked the middle button on her cell phone cursor, sending the message before hiding her phone from view. I quickly walked over, making sure that the Pokémon was not shaken too vigorously by my movements.

On a close-up inspection, she looked pretty… gross. Her eyelids were literally drowning in shadow, and her hair was a mix of so many colors that it looked like a child put a box of crayons in a blender and poured the contents on her head. She had a mole above the left side of her lip, and her teeth were the hue of the underside of a Pikachu. God forbid that the Pokémon Center chose presentable employees. On her nametag, her picture looked like a mini caricature, with "Josie" next to it in bold lettering.

"So, you have here an injured-"

"Ralts." We say it at exactly the same time. It was a true epiphany if I had ever had one, even though it was just me remembering what kind of Pokémon I had carrying in my arms.

"I'll page emergency care," she said in a raspy tone. She was an obvious smoker.

* * *

"_It was a Raticate, you say?"_ The doctor questioned me. He at least seemed presentable, unlike the hideous Josie that resided at the front desk. I nodded and explained to him about how the rodent Pokémon attacked my savior, purposefully leaving the part out about how I ran away from home, of course.

"_Well, she'll be all right,"_ he reassured me. _So, it's a girl,_ was the first thought that came to mind. Sure, I didn't really check, but it was nice to know. I glanced over at Ralts to see her on an examining table, still unconscious but bandaged to stop further bleeding. Ralts looked like an alien, all foreign in the bandages they wrapped around her. Then again, Ralts is an alien to me of sorts. I haven't even known her for twelve hours.

"_She'll be stitched up, as some of those gashes are downright nasty, and then she'll be checked for rabies, just to make sure. What's your I.D. number?" _The doctor looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to throw up some ten digit number or something at him. I just stood there, blanker than a fresh sheet of paper. _"Oh, you're not a Trainer. Just seemed like one; you're about the age. Is your mom or dad downstairs? They need to fill out some forms."_

"_Well,"_ I remember replying, _"it's a wild Pokémon. I found it in the woods last night. I was… camping."_ I quickly lied, sure that the physician could see right through it. Even if he could, he just nodded in understanding.

"_Just wait down in the lobby," _he said while washing his hands and putting on a pair of rubber gloves. _"This doesn't take too long."_

And there I was, sitting in the chair in the lobby that wanted to be sat in, reading an issue of _Trainers' Weekly_ on Pokémon battling. The main article was about what kind of Pokémon make good battlers.

_Professor Samuel Oak, the inventor of the PokéDex from Pallet, Kanto, has devoted his life to the study of Pokémon characteristics. "The thing about Pokémon," Oak, 68, says, "is that each one is unique. Sure, most people are sure that a Charizard could easily defeat, say, a Weedle, but in actuality, Pokémon strength is relative. That Weedle might actuality be much more powerful than the Charizard, compared to other Weedle, than that Charizard is compared to others of its species. No Pokémon should ever be overlooked based on how strong they may seem, as each one has its own hidden potential."_

"No one should overlook humans, either," I mumbled. I set the magazine down, losing my willingness to read it. I then glanced the clock - it read ten minutes to eight. Ralts had been in surgery for two hours. _Does it really take this long for stitches?_ Some other people were in now, and a few have already been out. A lady came in with an Arcanine for its checkup, and asked if I wanted to pet it. Like I was five or something. Of course, if I was in a better mood I probably would've, but I refused her offer. Now all I can think of is why a Pokémon Center would schedule checkups for seven in the morning. On the weekend. Oh well, different strokes for different folks.

I just sat there, with my horrible posture, waiting for the doctor to come walking out with Ralts, to tell me that she is all right.

"Don't worry, Ralts will be all right." I said quietly to no one in particular, except maybe myself. It was then that I noticed that music has been playing in the PA system for a long time, since I got there. Maybe what got me was the song that was now playing, a song that I personally did not care for, but was popular among a few of my friends.

_Hey there Delilah  
__What's it like in New York City?  
__I'm a thousand miles away  
But girl, tonight you look so pretty  
Yes you do  
Times Square can't shine as bright as you  
I swear it's true_

_Hey there Delilah  
Don't you worry about the distance  
I'm right there if you get lonely  
Give this song another listen  
Close your eyes  
Listen to my voice, it's my disguise  
I'm by your side_

_Oh, it's what you do to me  
Oh, it's what you do to me  
Oh, it's what you do to me  
Oh, it's what you do to me  
What you do to me_

_Hey there Delilah  
I know times are getting hard  
But just believe me, girl  
Someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar  
We'll have it good  
We'll have the life we knew we would  
My word is good_

_Hey there Delilah  
I've got so much left to say  
If every simple song I wrote to you  
Would take your breath away  
I'd write it all  
Even more in love with me you'd fall  
We'd have it all_

_Oh, it's what you do to me  
Oh, it's what you do to me  
Oh, it's what you do to me  
Oh, it's what you do to me_

_A thousand miles seems pretty far  
But they've got planes and trains and cars  
I'd walk to you if I had no other way  
Our friends would all make fun of us  
and we'll just laugh along because we know  
That none of them have felt this way  
Delilah I can promise you  
That by the time we get through  
The world will never ever be the same  
And you're to blame_

_Hey there Delilah  
You be good and don't you miss me  
Two more years and you'll be done with school  
And I'll be making history like I do  
You'll know it's all because of you  
We can do whatever we want to  
Hey there Delilah here's to you  
This one's for you_

"Don't worry, Delilah, it'll be all right." And for the first time in my life, I was sure of myself. I was sure that I could believe in what I was telling myself.

_Oh, it's what you do to me  
Oh, it's what you do to me  
Oh, it's what you do to me  
Oh, it's what you do to me  
What you do to me._

* * *

And that is Chapter Four, rewritten! I bet you can't even find what I changed anyway. It was mostly tense stuff. Whatever. Again, reviews are always nice. Was Ralts a good starter choice? (Damned Lolita doesn't think so, though her character has a shiny Eevee... lol jk! /pegged with tomatoes/) Do you like how the story is going? Are you cringing at that oh-too-popular song yet? Tell me!

Once again, thanks for reading!


	5. And Then the Rain Falls

So... I finally did Chapter Five!! It's short, I know, but it's what I call a transition, basically I'm using this chapter to connect two plotlines. So this chapter also ends in a fun cliffhanger! Don't worry, there will actually be something interesting happening next chapter. Trust me.

Oh yeah, and props to my IRL friends AJ and Janie for reading every chapter of this! Janie doesn't like Pokémon and she likes this, so that makes me really happy.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**And Then the Rain Falls...**

"So, Delilah, what am I supposed to do with you now?" Sure, I'll be the first one to admit that I am Poké-clueless. I really was never around Pokémon at all, to be honest. My father used to have some Pokémon, I think. He always kept them at work; the only one that ever came home was a Drowzee that my dad was quite partial to. But after his murder, his Pokémon were all taken away by the government. My mom didn't want them; she hates Pokémon with a passion. So they just took them away, I guess to some Trainer or something, or a Pokémon professor, like that Sam guy in the magazine. Sure, I've seen Pokémon passing in the street or on television, but I just don't know what do to with one when it's sitting in my arms.

Delilah came out from surgery all right. She was bandaged up in a few places, especially across her midsection, where the heavy bandaging indicated the worst damage from the Raticate. Her skin looked paler than it should've, if that is even possible. Her face was for the most part covered by her long emerald strands of hair, but I'm guessing she could still see despite it. She was well awake, and as I carried her in my arms, the Ralts would look at what was happening around her. People were out and busy now despite the now darkening sky - more cars littered the roads, and other people were walking along the sidewalks, some with Pokémon of their own. I received many sympathetic faces from people looking at poor Delilah, but no one really dared stop to coo at it or anything. It was probably a good thing, as Delilah, despite being in much better condition than earlier that morning, still looked very hurt.

I realized that I needed to go back into hiding. Soon Mom and Rick will notice that I have left, and they'll be searching everywhere for me. My plan originally included getting much farther away than I had obviously gotten, but I knew that I could still get a good distance away from this town before they come looking for me, as neither of them would ever guess that I would be here of all places, with the Pokémon Center and all. It just depended on Delilah.

"Can I bring you along with me? There is no way you can go back in the wild right now with that kind of damage…" I asked the Pokémon with a hint of pleading in my voice. To tell you the truth, I really started becoming very fond of Delilah. I mean, I even named it, right? The Ralts looked up at me and nodded vigorously, its hair flopping up and down as one would imagine a mop being shaken. I smiled; I was pleased that the Pokémon wanted to come with me. Well, then again, where else did she have to go?

I pondered for a moment: does Delilah have a family? You know, a group of Pokémon that are related to you, like a Pokémom and a Pokédad and Pokébrothers and Pokésisters. I mean biologically she must, or else she would not exist, but did she have a group of Pokémon to call a family? Did she live with her parents? Did she have grandparents, even? I looked down at Delilah, looking for some hint of longing for a close family member. Surprisingly, I didn't get any sort of look like that at all. She seemed glad to travel with me, even. I guess Pokémon are simple creatures, or maybe she doesn't like her family. _Well, now _I'm_ her family!_ I thought quite proudly.

I felt happy saying that, I really did. I ran away from my family, and she was separated from hers, so it was just natural that we would create our own family unit, right? The weird part though, is that inside my head I felt a rush of agreement. I mean, I did agree with it all, but it wasn't me thinking that. It was like a foreign thought that entered my head. Not even a complete coherent thought, more like a general feeling of happiness. It didn't last long however, and it left as quickly as it came. When I looked down to check on Delilah, she was fast asleep.

* * *

It must've been at least four o'clock by now. Delilah was awake yet again, but instead of the busy streets of people creating our background, the two of us were encompassed by thick trees. The woods were definitely not as ominous by night as by day, especially since Murkrows were not day Pokémon. I don't really think that Raticates are very diurnal either. We were much farther from home than we were last night. As we quietly made our way through the forest, the rotting autumn leaves crunched under my feet. A few common Pokémon were out and about: the Pidgeys nested up in the tall, sheltering trees, and the Wurmple were scurrying across the forest floor in search for their next meal. Delilah seemed a little on edge, as if she anticipated something to strike.

_CRASH!_

She happened to be right, although it was in the form of distant thunder. As if instantly, it started to pour. It was as if a giant Kyogre was up in the sky keeping us Earthlings wet with Water Spout. Well, probably not Water Spout, or we'd all drown in it. Maybe Water Pulse. Or Water Gun. Well, whatever it was, it was quite wet.

I pulled Delilah in closer to my sweatshirt to keep her warm and dry. Not like I was much shelter by now; I was beginning to get drenched from head to toe, as if I just jumped into a giant glass of ice water. The trees were awfully useless protection - without the leaves, the rain fell through the naked branches and struck the ground with the force of gravity. I shivered; the brisk November air stung against my wet clothes. Unfortunately, there was no protection in the bare forest. There was nowhere for me to go. Home was not an option anymore. I couldn't walk through the door, take off my shoes, put some dry clothes on and play _Grand Theft Auto_. I made a decision to leave my home, and I had to stick with it. Right now, my home consisted of a wet backpack, a soaked sweatshirt, and a white Pokémon barely over a foot tall. The only thing I could do was to keep moving on.

The rain only got worse. Both Delilah and I were saturated. I felt the same weird feeling through my body again, but this time it was of immense discomfort. I had to say, I wholeheartedly agreed with this feeling. I felt more miserable than a wet cat. The worst part was that I would look like one too if I magically sprouted whiskers. Delilah was shivering against my chest, as cold and wet as I am. _"Ral…" _she muttered in a soft voice, sounding in a lot of pain.

I stopped walking and looked down at my friend. She looked like hell. It tore my heart to see her in such a condition, so I petted her softly and sat down under a tree trunk, still holding her tight. "You've been through quite a lot, haven't you? In these past few days?" She nodded wearily. Sure, the doctor may have stitched up her gashes, but I finally realized that sometimes time and rest are the best threads to patch up wounds. _All of this rain and cold must be taking quite a toll on her,_ I thought to myself. _Maybe I should go back to the Pokémon Center and get her warm and dry…_

"_Grovyle!"_

As I stood up to make my journey back to the Pokémon Center, the dark green gecko Pokémon confronts me, as wet as I am. It's creepy vermilion eyes widen up, and it screeches its name yet again. In no time, a young man comes running to the scene. He's wearing a red and yellow jacket over a white t-shirt with brown cargo shorts, an outfit that I have never seen before. He was also drenched from the heavy downpour, and covered in mud from running. "Lennox MacLaren?"

I nodded slowly. Unfortunately, that was me.

"Good. There are quite a few people looking for you." My heart sank as he pulled out a walkie-talkie to tell God-knows-who that I was safe.

* * *

Yup, Lenn got caught! My friend asked if he was gonna try and escape, but I just have to say that I don't think he's going to be escaping a Grovyle anytime soon. Well, you'll find out next chapter. Any comments? Review!

Once again, thanks for reading!

* * *


	6. Kyle's Suggestion

Finally, my lazy ass put up another chapter! Actually, I had most of it already written out, I just procrastinated quite a bit on the proofreading. A little longer than the last chapter. Don't worry, things will start to pace up next chapter. Or, at least I sure hope so. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**Kyle's Suggestion**

Well, I have to say, this sight was quite familiar. I was in a small yet open room, as the rain continued to pour outside, streaking the windows with water. I sat on the leather couch as nonchalantly as I could, although I trembled with fear. I found the worn out spot, feeling myself sink into the furniture as I looked around apprehensively. The beige walls were not inviting at all, yet cold and bare to my presence. The coffee table, littered with sports magazines, seemed to wordlessly spell out my doom. The television, however blank the screen it was, seemed to glare at me, awaiting my crucifixion.

The reason things looked so familiar was because I was in my parents' living room.

I was too tired to put up a fight with the man. Grovyle looked tense and ready to strike, but when I looked down at Delilah, resting in my arms, I knew that there was no point in running. There was no need to risk her anymore than I already had. I slowly stood up and walked over to the man, whose job it was to return me to the one place that I oh so desperately wanted to leave.

It turned out that the man's name was Kyle, and he was a Pokémon Ranger. Apparently, when my mother called the police, they dispatched the Pokémon Rangers to try and find me, since Pokémon can find things much better than people can. No one believed that I got far, and lo and behold, they were correct. He now sat next to me as I confronted my parents for the first time since dinner last night. I looked skeptically at his red and yellow jacket. _I wouldn't be caught dead in something so stupid,_ I thought silently to myself. _Whoever made those jackets must be quite the loser._ Oh well, different strokes for different folks.

Kyle was in his mid-twenties, as it looked like, and he definitely seemed to keep up his appearance. His hair was cut quite short, and he was very well shaven. I ran a hand through my own long untidy hair and touched the area above my upper lip with my tongue, feeling a few whiskers that were growing in that I had yet to shave. Appearance wasn't really my thing, as you could tell. As long as I looked somewhat alive, the minute details didn't matter that much.

I changed into some drier clothes before sitting in the living room, with a large blanket wrapped around me for extra warmth. Delilah stuck her head out of the blanket, staring at the two people across from us named Lillian and Rick. I hugged her tightly, as if doing so would give me extra confidence. It didn't.

Rick, surprising us all, started the conversation. "It was what I said last night, wasn't it Lenn?" Well, he isn't quite as stupid as he looks. Only mostly. I nodded, trying to prevent sarcasm from leaking out. I mean, of course it was what he said! How much of a Dunsparce could one be to not realize that a comment like that would be offensive?

"He tried coming in your room and apologizing, dear," my mother assured me, "but he said that you weren't really in the mood to talk." I realized that Rick must've been the person I told to go eff off. Oh well; in my opinion, he deserved it. "Why did you just run off like that, Lennox?" she asked. "You're such a smart boy; I would think that you would be able to think things out without coming to a decision as rash as-"

"Rash!?" I blurted out, probably not knowing how loud I was being. Del (Delilah can get repetitive after a while) ducked her head to avoid the upcoming outburst. "I've been an outcast on Jock Island for seven fucking years! I don't think it was rash of me to run away!" Tears started running. I could feel my cheeks burn red from outrage. Delilah moved off of my lap for her own safety as I stood up. "I'm too much of a _pussy_ for you, so I thought I might as well LEAVE!" I felt as if a Torkoal erupted in my body and metaphorical steam was leaving my ears at lightning speeds. I was furious, I wanted to punch something, throw something, _kill_ something, but all I could do was drop to the ground and sob. It must've looked terrible, it really must've. With the amount I had cried in the last twenty-four hours, I was surprised that tears still came. _I need a psychiatrist. This shit is way too Jerry Springer._

I thought that the first one to come and comfort me would be my own mother. I thought that she would rub my back, like when I was little, and sit me up and tell me everything would be all right and hug me and for a moment the world would possibly be at peace. That's when I was surprised when Delilah came down from the couch, despite how hurt she was, and wrapped her arms around my shoulder and neck, giving me the closest thing she could to a hug. What shocked me even more, however, was the fact that Del's action ended up relieving me much more than anything my mother could've done.

As I sat back on the couch again, Kyle got up, claiming that he had to use the bathroom. My mother walked over to the couch and sat down, tears in her own eyes. Embracing me, she told me, "I didn't know that's how you felt. I really didn't. I'm sorry hun."

I was well aware that words would not come out in this state - I was too choked up to speak, and if I attempted to say anything, it would come out as a babyish whine. I decided to just keep quiet and hug my mother tighter, with Del sitting in my lap once again. My mom inched back just the tiniest bit - Pokémon were not her friends at all - but right now I could've cared less. It was the hug that was important, the sole stitch that kept me emotionally sewn together, and I didn't want to let go for the world.

* * *

"You know that I love Rick though, and I don't want to leave him." Rick was out getting pizza. It was me, Del, Mom, and Kyle, who was invited to stay for dinner, all sitting out in the living room still. Brett was in his room, probably playing _Madden_ or something. I finally pulled myself together enough to talk again.

"I know you love him, and I wouldn't want you two to split up. He obviously makes you happy." My mother smiled; I knew Rick did make her a lot happier, whatever she saw in the prick. She was never as good-natured with my dad, trust me. "It's just, I don't know, I just don't wanna stay here."

"Well, I can't let _that_ stay here anyway," my mom replied. She pointed at Delilah, who looked up at her innocently. I knew that she would say that. My mother would not touch a Pokémon with a ten-foot pole, let alone live with one. It took quite a bit of convincing to get Del in the house in the first place, and she only let her in the house because she doesn't have a PokéBall to go in. No matter how injured, my mom keeps a strict 'No Pokémon' policy in the house that has rarely been broken.

"Well, what am I supposed to do with her?" I asked my mother. "She's injured. I can't just put her back in the wild! She'd get eaten or something!" I knew the real reason that I didn't want Del to leave was because she was starting to become a friend to me - a real friend, one that I felt confident telling anything to. Sure, she was a Pokémon, but people befriend Pokémon all of the time… right?

"Aren't there Pokémon pounds or something?" she asked, turning to Kyle for an answer. He faltered a little, quite shocked by the question, as in his profession he probably did not meet many people that did not like Pokémon.

"Well, yes there is-"

"Delilah is not going to a pound!" I exclaimed with fury. I didn't want to get rid of her - she was my friend.

"Well what else are we going to do?" my mom asked.

"Well, there is one thing we could do," Kyle answered. "I don't know if you'd necessarily want to do this, but you would be able to be with the Ralts and out of the house."

My ears perked up; I was interested.

"You could become a Pokémon Trainer." You should've saw the look on my mom's face when Kyle said that.

I picked over my pizza as I thought about Kyle's idea. Sure, it would get me out of the house, and I'd definitely be able to keep Delilah, but what about my friends? And school? And my life? Most kids interested in Pokémon leave at about age ten to go to the Trainer's Academy, and then start their journeys at age thirteen or so. In September, at the beginning of the school year. But Kyle said that there were probably at least a few more kids my age applying for Trainer licenses right now, for the late December journeys.

"_December?"_ I asked Kyle. _"It's cold and snowy in December!"_

Apparently Trainers rough the snowy months all of the time. Or, as an alternative, we could always head south. Although he said the Pokémon down south are a little tougher. Go figure.

It was a lot to leave, I had to admit. My close friends, and my school, and pretty much everything I knew about my life. I wasn't sure if I would do it. If I _could_ do it.

"Hey Lenny, what kinda sissy Pokémon is that?" Brett asked while chewing, spewing partially digested chunks of pizza across the table.

_Fuck this, I'm outta here. Pokémon Training, here I come!_

* * *

All rightee! Finally, we're gonna start seeing some actual Pokémon action! As well as some new characters... with some more cliché Pokémon. And Lennox will stop crying in every single chapter too, lol.

Once again, thanks for reading!


	7. Finally, Plot Development!

No, I'm not dead! ^_^

After intense writer's block, procrastination, school, drama (no, not the club) and etc., I have finally finished another chapter of HTD! Took me long enough, I know, but the sad part is that I had a lot of it written already. This chapter may seem to rush through things, but at the very least we can get on with some action of consequence in the next chapter. This chapter flies through Lenn's Trainer orientation, and you get to meet the other main characters, finally!

Sorry for all of the reviewers that posted during my period of inactivity, but a Review Reply now would be kind of weird, three and half months later. As for the question on ships, there will be some, hehe.

Oh, and there are a few asterisks throughout the chapter. Footnotes are at the bottom for them.

I hope you enjoy! It's quite long. :D

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**Finally, Plot Development!  
**

You see, despite what you may think about Pokémon, the truth is that most people never ever go on any sort of Pokémon journey. Many people keep Pokémon as pets, per se, such as Kenny, one of my friends, who has a Kecleon, but for the most part, kids choose to do other things. I can't really remember, but I'm pretty sure that there were only about fifteen kids from my grade that went to some sort of Trainers' school after fifth grade, and I went to a pretty big school. Most people just go to college and get a desk job. Pokémon training is kind of viewed by the rest of the world as a sport; something you watch on television or read about in the newspaper. To be honest, Pokémon training never seemed like something I would be remotely interested in. I always dreamed of myself becoming a novelist, or something like that. I don't know.

The following two weeks after the whole running away incident was quite awkward. I didn't pay much attention in any of my classes. I figured that there was no point, right? If I was going to leave forever to become a Pokémon Trainer, then why did I need to pay attention in algebra or biology? It seemed worthless.

The rest of the school found out about my departure as well. People looked at me in the hallways sort of skeptically; they were more puzzled than I was. There were few people that left on a Pokémon journey in high school. Some people leave for their senior year or something, but most times if someone was supposedly going to become a Pokémon Trainer, they were hiding something else, like a pregnancy. Of course, I was not pregnant.

Telling my friends, surprisingly for me, was much easier than I thought it would be. They all seemed to understand, and in a way they were envious. I guess a lot of kids don't like their parents that much. A way to get rid of them probably appealed to most of them. It sure did to me. It was sad nonetheless, and many of the good-byes ended up being quite teary. "I'll keep in touch with you!" I said to many of them, but I knew that the chances of that happening was not very likely. How was I going to keep in touch with people when I'm traveling in the middle of nowhere? It comforted them though, which is what I wanted. It was all confusing enough for me without confusing them as well.

I did a lot of reading in those two weeks. _How to Care for Pokémon, Pokémon and You: Steps to Becoming a Good Trainer, Pokémon Training for Dunsparces*_ - all of these titles and many more littered my bedroom as I tried reading through as many as I could. Feeding, grooming, sleeping, battling… it was a lot, and the worst part was that every Pokémon is unique! For example, according to one of my books (like I could remember which one, they are all a big blur now), it claimed that an Abra could sleep for three quarters of the day, while if a Slugma stopped moving it would cool down and turn into stone! I had no clue how to remember all of those Pokéquirks, if it was even possible.

As for Delilah, she was doing much better. Her wounds healed quite nicely; the scar tissue was as snowy as her skin. Many a day were spent just vegging out with her, listening to music, reading, drawing, etcetera. My mother let her stay in the house as long as she was confined in my room, which was easy enough. I was only allowed to bring her out of my room for her to go to the bathroom outside. It almost seemed as if I sensed when she needed to go.

I made sure to read up on Ralts, of course. It is the Feeling Pokémon, according to _Encyclopedia Pokéanica_. _"Ralts tend to have a closer genetic tie with Ghost-type Pokémon rather than other Psychics, but their psychic abilities are highly pronounced nonetheless. The horns on a Ralts' head are used to sense emotion from other beings, acting as an accessory structure for this unique sixth sense."_

_So she can sense what I'm feeling, huh?_ I thought to myself. As I thought about it, I saw the small Pokémon nod her head. "Huh?" I jumped a little in shock, amazed. It took me a while to figure that since she is a Psychic-type, Del can probably read minds as well. What a cool Pokémon.

* * *

Before I knew it, the big day had come. I was about to become a Pokémon Trainer. I sat in the waiting room of the Pokémon Ranger Station anxiously. My hair was still damp from my last shower at home. I was the first one there - I purposefully wanted to be, so I could relax and reflect by myself for a little bit, so I told my mother that I had to be there a half hour earlier than I needed to be. My bag was already pre-packed: a couple changes of clothes, a few Pokémon healing items, a six-pack of PokéBalls, some Munchies for the road, plenty of spending money, and _The Pokémon Trainer's Guide to the New England Region.**_ I sat down, staring at my boots. I would've preferred sneakers, but my mother insisted that the boots would be easier to manage through the terrain. Plus, it got cold up there in the winter. Del was in my jacket, with her head poking naively out. Although I already got a PokéBall for Del, she was more comfortable out of it than in. Plus, she was good company.

The Ranger Station was an old building, to say the very least. I'm pretty sure that it used to be a doctor's office - the wallpaper was tacky and peeling, and the carpet was hard and rough. The lady working at the desk was middle-aged, with blonde hair in a bob-like fashion. She was busy doing paperwork as a Pokémon sat at her side and watched. I didn't know what kind of Pokémon it was at all. It kind of looked like a potted plant, but on further inspection it had stubby legs and a miniscule face. It was kind of cute, although I didn't bother to ask the lady what kind of Pokémon it was.

Just then, the door was pushed open and a boy walked in. Surprisingly, he didn't look that much younger than myself at the time. He really needed a comb; his hair was a mess. The kid was a walking label, with his Volcom sweatshirt, his American Eagle jeans, and his polka dot Vans slip-ons. He spoke in a cool, nonchalant voice to the lady at the desk. "Hello, I'm here for my Trainer's license." The lady looked up from her paperwork. The potted plant also looked up at the boy and squeaked something incomprehensible at him. He gave a cool smile.

"Oh, you must be Ryan… Powell," the woman read from a sheet on her desk. "Go take a seat, Kyle will be back after he grabs some breakfast." I was glad that Kyle was going to go through our Trainer's license orientation. He seemed like a good enough guy, and the best part was that I knew him from the whole escapade last weekend. I'm not that comfortable around strangers.

The kid walked over and sat in the chair across from me. He was about half a head taller, and much tanner than I was. As he sat his backpack down on the floor, he introduced himself. "Name's Ryan. Just came here from Cali." _Sure explains the tan, _I thought to myself.

"Name's Lennox. Lenn for short. And this is Delilah." I took the Ralts out of my jacket so she could say hello. She gave a quick smile, nothing big.

"Cool Pokémon," he replied. "Here's mine." He took a PokéBall from his belt loop (Yes, they really can attach there. There's a clip.) and pressed the button, releasing a small blue Pokémon. It sort of looked like an upright dog of sorts, although it seemed very agile as well.

"_Riolu!"_ it greeted. Delilah smiled again and climbed down my leg to get on the ground to meet this new friend. The blue Pokémon gave out a hand to shake, which Del happily accepted.

"His name is Arthur. He's a Riolu. I kinda wanted a Dark-type Pokémon, but I guess Fighting-types are cool too, right Arty?" The Riolu nodded, and flexed its scrawny arm, trying to show off. "Don't worry, you'll kick ass as a Lucario!" The Fighting-type agreed with its Trainer, and then climbed up to his lap. I picked up Del and placed her on mine.

We just sat there and made small talk, about our favorite bands and random stuff like that. After what seemed like forever, Kyle walked in the front door, carrying a couple boxes of doughnuts. He set them on the receptionist's desk. "Oh good, the Trainers are here. Come grab some doughnuts! I don't know what you kids like so I got a whole bunch." Ryan and I walked over to the box, each grabbing a calorie-saturated pastry. Kyle inspected the two of us. "Wait a minute, Mary, I thought you said that there were three Trainers."

"There are," replied the receptionist, setting her pen down to grab a chocolate glazed doughnut. "Both of the boys are here, we're just missing…" She quickly glanced at her paperwork, "Chloe Stanford."

The door quickly opened, revealing a bubbly girl of sixteen or so walk in, carrying a few large bags stuffed to the brim with miscellaneous stuff. "I am SO SORRY I'm late, really!" her voice clearly cut through the room, she was obviously a loud girl since she came out of the womb. "You see, I packed pretty much everything I thought I needed, and then I forgot a sweatshirt, and so I packed one, and then I realized that I didn't have any shoes to match it, so I put a pair of them in, and then I remembered that I had a really really cute pair of earrings that go with those shoes, so I put them in too, and then-"

"Well," Kyle began, "to tell you the truth, you probably don't need half of the stuff you put in there." He took a bag from her and opened it up, revealing that it was stuffed to the brim with clothes. "Y'know, you only need a few changes of clothes."

"And wear the same stuff over and over again?" she flicked back her blonde hair and gave Kyle a look of disgust. "I am not some trailer trash, I'll let you know! I don't go around wearing the same three pairs of clothes every day! I don't mind the walking as a Trainer, I don't mind sleeping outside six out of seven days of the week, I don't even mind peeing in a bush, but I will not wear the same clothes twice in the same week!"

Kyle rolled his eyes, he knew that dealing with Chloe was going to be tough. "Here, how about you only bring a few pairs of clothes, and by the time you reach a new city, you can shop for new clothes, all right?"

The girl's eyes sparkled. She immediately dropped the other clothes bag. "You're a genius!" She quickly ran up to Kyle and hugged him, much to his discomfort. "And a cutie," she added, giving him a wink.

"Hey, watch it. I'm like ten years older than you. So, you're Chloe, I assume."

"That's the name, don't wear it out." She quickly took out a pocket mirror and started to apply blush. "Sorry, I didn't have time to do it before I came."

Kyle was starting to get annoyed. "Look, I'll just have you guys go through the orientation."

Orientation ended up being an hour and a half movie in Kyle's office. It was common sense stuff, really. It mentioned Pokémon Centers, and what a Gym was, and a Contest Hall, and a Ranger Base. It explained about how the ABP (American Bureau of Pokémon) was responsible for the establishment of Pokémon Leagues and Pokémon Contest challenges throughout the country, and the different rules and regulations and blah blah blah associated with all of everything. Ryan fell asleep rather quickly; if his face practically making out with the table wasn't enough evidence of this, the loud snoring was. Eventually, Kyle took a book and slammed it on the table, right next to Ryan's head. His head bolted up, and he sat there, scared out of his wits. After that, he paid much more attention to the movie, to the point of actually getting out a pad of paper and writing down notes.

After the credits started to roll, Kyle turned the movie off. "Well, that was fun kiddies, wasn't it?" The lack of enthusiasm as a response did not surprise him one bit. "OK, now for some fun stuff."

The group walked out of Kyle's office, to a larger room, where there were several Pokémon roaming, including Kyle's Grovyle. "Now, I was told that all of you have starter Pokémon approved by the ABP…" He glanced at Del and then Arthur, and then he looked at Chloe. When she didn't do anything, he simply said, "Pokémon."

"Oh!" She dug through her purse for a pink PokéBall, and opened it, releasing a small brown Pokémon, with long ears and covered in lots of fur. "Here is Babs, my beautiful Buneary! Isn't she so cute?"

"It looks like something my Pokémon pooped out after breakfast," Ryan replied with a mischievous smirk on his face. Chloe turned around and stared daggers at Ryan.

"Um, Kyle, question," I said, half because I was curious about something and half because I didn't want to see Chloe and Ryan have an all-out brawl. "What do you mean, our Pokémon have to be approved by the ABP?"

"Oh, there are only certain Pokémon you can begin your journey with," answered Kyle. "Not only does the Pokémon have to be between levels four and eight, but there are only certain species admitted, so you don't get stuck with something pathetic, like Wurmple, or something that could be dangerous, such as Onix."

"Ooh, what's an Onix?" Chloe asked innocently.

"It's a very long rock snake Pokémon," Kyle answered. "It has enough power to crush a Trainer if they don't have the skill to control it."

"Heh, I saw an Onix once, in a Pokémon battle," remarked Ryan cheekily. "It used Harden and then Explosion!" Kyle took a deep breath - if no one else was going to address the innuendo, neither was he.

Kyle went over to a counter, and took out three packages from a box. He doled them out to us, and explained, "These are PokéDexes. They record various minutia about Pokémon, such as where they live, what they eat, and what is the best way to make them jump through a ring of fire. They are yours to keep, and they are extremely useful while out in the wild, as a reference tool. They are extremely expensive, and if you break it, you will not get another one without paying through the ass." I took my PokéDex out of the box - it glistened in the light. I flipped it open, turned it on, and pointed it at Delilah.

"**Ralts, the Feeling Pokémon," **the PokéDex read aloud in a mechanical monotonous voice. The read of the data was available in print on the screen: **"It uses the horns on its head to sense human emotions. It is said to appear in front of cheerful people."**_Since when am I a cheerful person? _I thought to myself. _This Ralts must be out of whack._ I looked down to see Del look offended. "Sorry," I whispered, "I didn't mean it like that."

Luckily, no one cared to pay attention to me speak to my Pokémon like a madman as they were playing with their own PokéDexes. **"Buneary slams foes by sharply uncoiling its rolled ears. It stings enough to make a grown-up cry in pain,"** was what Ryan's PokéDex said when he aimed it at Babs. "Jeez," he said to Chloe, "all that rodent would have to do is look at a grown-up to make him cry!"

"Kids! Enough!" Kyle sternly said, directed at Ryan and Chloe, who was about to hit Ryan with her purse. "I just got my Pokémon in their PokéBalls, so now you all are going to begin your journeys!" I grinned especially wide - Ryan and Chloe looked ecstatic as well. "I will be accompanying you all to the next town over, to make sure you all are safe and that you all don't kill each other in the process." He stared at Ryan and Chloe again. "So, does anyone have anything to say before we leave?"

"How do you turn this thing on?"

"Chloe, that's for the sound, the power switch is on the other side…"

* * *

* A Dunsparce is a common term for a dummy or an idiot, based on the average intelligence of a Dunsparce. This came from a very old inside joke. ("DUNSPARCE!!!")

** Lennox and the other main characters live in America, based on the fact that the canon regions are all based on Japan. Places are described by their real life name and their game name, so say Osaka, Japan would also be referred to as "The City of Goldenrod," or "Goldenrod City." The New England Regions consists of the New England states: Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Rhode Island. Lennox lives in Maine.

* * *

So, we got perverted-funny Ryan and drama queen Chloe! Feel free to comment on them or their cliché Pokémon that evolve into commonly Rule 34'd Pokémon... _ (I need to stop doing that.) Trust me, it'll (hopefully) get better en route to the next town. And hopefully our two new characters won't rip each other's throats out in the process. Thanks for reading!


	8. En Route to Somewhere

Meh, I told some people that I was going to try and get this chapter up last Wednesday before I left for Rochester (was, by the way, completely amazing), but I was too caught in life to finish and update. So, after two snow days in a row, I finally completed Chapter 8! There are battles in this one! They're short, but they are mostly used for character development than anything. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

**En Route to Somewhere  
**

And so, the four of us made our way to the forest along the outskirts of town. I sighed in relief; this was not the same side of town where my… _incident_ took place. Whether Kyle did that on purpose or just coincidentally I will probably never know. It was bright and clear out - nothing like my last two escapades into the forest - and it had a sense of brightness and cheeriness about it. I was kind of nervous, I will admit. Becoming a Pokémon Trainer is scary at first. But, I was assured that my group would do fine on their first route…

"Kyle, my legs hurt," complained Chloe in a whiny tone. She was already getting quite annoying to listen to. "Can we like take a break or something? Or," she was still trying to flirt with Kyle a bit, "you could carry me in your big strong arms." She smiled innocently at the Pokémon Ranger.

"Chloe, grow up," responded the man. "Again, you're sixteen and I'm twenty-six. You don't have a chance." Chloe grumbled, and stayed a little quieter as they were walking. She looked down in disgust as her Uggs trampled over twigs and leaves and other small forest regulars.

Del was being held in my arms, just as the other Trainers held their starter Pokémon (poor Babs looked like she was being strangled). She looked around at the trees and the shrubs; this is what she knew as her home. "Do you see anything familiar?" I asked. She shook her head. "Of course, you lived on the other side of the forest."

"So," Kyle asked, "what made the three of you all decide to become Pokémon Trainers, and this late in the game? I'm usually bringing out middle schoolers here, you know."

"Well," Ryan explained, "my dad travels a lot for work, so our family ends up moving a lot. So, when I was ten, I couldn't apply for Trainer's Academy since I just moved to California from my other home in Kansas. I stayed in California for five years, and then my dad had to move up here, so that's when I decided to finally sign up for late Trainer registry."

Kyle then turned to Chloe. "There aren't any cute guys at my school," Chloe started, "and I heard that there are lots of cute boys that become Pokémon Trainers… Plus, I was failing history, so I was like, 'Hey, let's become a Trainer so I can meet cute boys and not have to take history!'"

"…You're completely serious, aren't you," responded Kyle, who looked flabbergasted at such a shallow response.

"Of course I am!" Chloe responded firmly. "Like I need history anyway, with a body like this I _make_ history!" Kyle looked ready to sweatdrop like in an anime. I have to agree with Kyle - this girl was way to shallow. But still, my excuse was not much better.

I turned a little red, ready to tell my story, but Kyle saved me. "Oh, I already know your situation, Lenn." I sighed in relief; I didn't feel like sharing what went on in my house a few weeks ago.

"Hey, a Pokémon!" Kyle told the rest of the group. It was a small bird Pokémon, colored a light brown with a pale pink beak and feet. It was happily pecking away for worms that may have been nesting in the earth. "That, kids, is a Pidgey. I think this would be great for someone's first battle."

"Arthur, Quick Attack!"

"Del, use Confusion!"

"Babs, um… do something!"

"Wait! You can't just gang up on a Pokémon like that!" Kyle protested, but all three Pokémon went racing towards the Pidgey. The Pidgey, out of fear, kicked up sand to block its intruders, and flew away. All three Pokémon sat there, trying to rub the sand out of their eyes.

I picked Delilah up. "Sorry there, girl," I apologized. The other Trainers got their Pokémon as well.

"Next time," Kyle said wearily, "don't go running and screaming. First of all, only one Trainer per Pokémon. It is illegal to gang up on a Pokémon like that. Secondly, if you are too loud about everything, a Pokémon will flee, just like that Pidgey did." I immediately turned red; I felt embarrassed, doing everything so wrong. "However," the man continued, "I liked how Ryan and Lenn knew exactly what moves they wanted their Pokémon to use. That was a plus." This made me feel better. "Chloe, do you know any moves that Buneary can use?"

"Um…" Chloe twirled her hair, trying to think of a decent answer. "Punch?"

Kyle almost looked ready to give up hope, but instead he took a deep breath, and continued. "Punch isn't a Pokémon move, Chloe. At your Buneary's level, the main damaging move it has would be Pound."

At that moment, a small Pokémon was squirming by. It was a green wormlike Pokémon. _It doesn't look that harmful,_ I thought to myself. _It actually looks quite friendly._

"OK, here is a good chance for some battle experience!" stated Kyle enthusiastically. "One of you should battle this Caterpie… um… how about Chloe first?"

Chloe seemed angry at this suggestion. "Why me first?" she exclaimed. "I don't know anything about battling."

"Chloe, it's a freaking Caterpie," he replied. "Here is your chance to learn how to battle."

She rolled her eyes in detest. _"Fine,"_ she said almost bitterly, as she let her Buneary walk over to the Caterpie. "OK, Babs, let's use Pound!"

Babs looked quite nervous at the thought of battling, even if it was just a Caterpie. She slowly walked over to the innocent caterpillar, and slapped it square across the face with one of its large ears. The poor Caterpie, completely in shock, started to cry. Buneary stepped back, feeling awfully guilty.

"Ew, it's crying!" Chloe exclaimed.

"Um, yeah, Chloe," Ryan answered, "Your furball just bitch-slapped it in the face."

Caterpie pulled itself together enough to launch a string of web at Buneary, getting the poor Pokémon stuck in sticky goo.

"Ha, that attack must be called Eja-"

"It's called String Shot, Ryan," corrected Kyle, quickly blocking Ryan's opportunity for yet another inappropriate innuendo. "It traps the other Pokémon in its web, making it essentially immobile." That part was right - Babs was struggling furiously to get out of the silky web.

"What do I do?" asked a distressed Chloe. "What other moves does Babs know?" She seemed in a pickle - she didn't know how Babs could get out of this.

Ryan quickly checked his PokéDex. "According to this, Furball knows Splash, Pound, Defense Curl, and Foresight."

"Um," Chloe had to think quickly. "Babs, use Splash for Mommy!"

The poor rabbit Pokémon flopped aimlessly on the ground, not really doing much of anything. The Caterpie started a charge towards the strangled body and tackled it hard, causing it to roll a few feet.

"Ouch, that was a tough Tackle attack," Kyle commented. "Chloe, you do know that Splash is the only Pokémon attack with no effect whatsoever? It's purely aesthetic."

"Flopping around like an idiot is aesthetic?" Ryan commented cheekily.

Chloe glared at him intensely, trying to not cry. "Grr… can I quit this now? I'm sick of this!" Now tears were streaming her face. This whole situation was really frustrating her.

"Yes, Chloe," Kyle responded rather calmly, seeing how upset she was. "You can call back Babs and I can see if Ryan can finish the battle." Chloe nodded in agreement while letting tears stain her face, and she brought the poor constricted Pokémon back to her PokéBall.

"You couldn't even beat a Cater-" Ryan was about to finish his cruel statement, but was caught short by a stern look from Kyle. Chloe sat on a log, putting her head into her hands, purely ashamed of her less-than-superstar performance.

I truly felt for Chloe. How was she supposed to ace her first Pokémon battle when she barely knew anything about Pokémon to begin with? I slowly walked over to her and sat down next to her, putting an arm around her shoulder. "It's okay," I said to her softly. "I think you did well for your first battle."

She didn't protest. She didn't deny my words, or tell me to fuck off. She just accepted me to sit there and comfort her. Sure, she probably got a lot of attention at home, but as she just learned, one must work for their attention in the world of Pokémon. She muttered something incomprehensible to me through her sobs, and to this day I think she said, "Thank you."

Ryan approached the enemy Caterpie, and let Arthur climb down from his arms to face his opponent. The Emanation Pokémon focused, and was ready to try its best against the opponent. The Caterpie started first, rushing in with another Tackle attack. Ryan simply stood there - he did not speak a single command to Arthur.

Arthur was hit hard by the Tackle, and fell bottom first onto the ground. "Now, Art, use Counter!" Without any thought needed, the Riolu sprang to life. It quickly got off the ground and charged at double the speed towards the Caterpie, ramming right into it. The Caterpie was taken quite aback by this show of power, and it seemed to take a heavy blow from that attack. "Now, Art, use Quick Attack!" The Riolu raced towards the Bug-type again, before it even had time to react, to deal yet another strong blow. This one, however, was too much for the Caterpie, and it quickly fell to the ground, defeated. Before it lost all consciousness, the Caterpie slowly squirmed away from us, acknowledging its defeat.*

Kyle applauded for Ryan, and so did I. "Congratulations, Ryan!" Kyle said enthusiastically, "That was one of the best displays of battling from a beginner I have ever seen!"

"Well, it's not talent or anything," Ryan modestly replied. "I've had the extra time to study Pokémon battling in detail, I guess…" He picked Arthur up, and congratulated him on a job well done.

Chloe looked up at him, flushed out and miserable looking. "Nice job, Ryan," she said weakly. Then quickly, without any warning, she stood up and wiped her face. "All rightee then, why are we just sitting here! We got a city to go to!"

Kyle looked concerned. "Chloe, are you all right? We can take a break if you want." He did not need this girl to be an emotional wreck by the time they got out of the forest.

"Are you kidding me?" Chloe asked in disbelief. "I'm fine! I'm not going to let a little loss bring me down!" However, she still looked a little shaky from the upset. However, she refused to slow everyone else down, so we had no choice but to move on.

"So, Delilah, are you ready for your first battle?" I asked my pale Psychic-type. She nodded eagerly. "Well, I guess it's not your first battle ever," I corrected myself, remembering the scene with the Raticate, "but it's my first battle, so I'm a little nervous." All Delilah did was smile - she needed to do nothing more to calm me down. She was the one that had to battle, of course - if she was up for it, than I could be too.

Eventually, our group did come upon another Pokémon. "This is a good one for you, Lennox," Kyle said. It was a stout brown Pokémon, with hard-looking skin. Actually, it kind of looked like an acorn. "That is a Seedot," Kyle told me.

I checked my PokéDex. **"Seedot, the Acorn Pokémon,"** it read aloud. **"When it dangles from a tree branch, it looks just like an acorn. It enjoys scaring other Pokémon."** The Seedot looked up strangely at us - it was probably the first time it had ever saw a pack of humans like us.

"Okay, Del, let's do this!" I sat her down on the ground and watched her waddle towards the Grass-type Pokémon. "Um, use Confusion!" Delilah focused and started to glow a strange pinkish color. At the same time, however, the Seedot was turning a bit red, and looked ready to brace itself.

"Seedot is using an attack called Bide right now," Kyle explained. "It will keep on storing the energy from any attack that hits it until it can strike back at double the power!"

Delilah finished focusing and sent the pink psychic energy out to the Seedot, which the Pokémon took without flinching. The Seedot then released the attack back with a powerful blast, striking Delilah hard and making her topple over.

I panicked. "So how I am supposed to beat this thing if all it does is send Del's attacks back at her?" Delilah slowly got up, and stared down the Seedot, trying to figure out a way to beat it as well.

"Well," Kyle answered, "what other moves does Delilah know?"

I thought for a moment until the name of the move came to me. "Um, Delilah, use Growl?" As expected, the Seedot charged up again, but instead of being hit by the Psychic-type blast, it just became the subject of a weak growl from the Ralts, sounding something between a gargle and a whimper. Seedot let go of its brace, but this time the Bide did nothing.

"Um, Kyle, that was pointless," I said quietly to the Pokémon Ranger. Sure, he knew a lot more about battling than I did at the time, but using Growl proved ineffective.

"Lennox, look at the Seedot," he responded. The Seedot was panting a bit; it had used up a lot of energy to use Bide. By the time I caught on to what Kyle was trying to show me, however, the Seedot was once again ready to battle.

"OK, Del," I commanded with newfound confidence, "Use Growl again!" I started to feel smart with the orders that I was giving Delilah. I felt in control, in power, strong.

Not weak.

Once again, the Seedot used Bide, bracing itself for what was none other than a bark from my Pokémon. It let go, panting once again from using its energy.

"Now, Delilah, use Confusion before it can recover!" Del caught on, and quickly charged up and released a Confusion attack, hitting the Acorn Pokémon head on. I laughed on the inside as it rolled back a few feet from the attack's impact, and slowly tried to get up from the attack.

"Now, Del, finish him off!" I was truly high in the moment. A rush of ecstasy rippled throughout my body as I commanded my orders to Delilah. I felt one with the Ralts as she sent off another Confusion to the Grass-type, fully defeating it.

And as it ran off, back to its home in the wilderness, all I could do is cheer for what felt like forever.

* Rather than having them faint and pretty much lie there limp on the ground, I feel it is necessary to have the wild Pokémon run off with their last bit of strength. If wild Pokémon truly fought to the point of fainting, they'd be easy prey for the next Pokémon to come along. *Sees fainted Caterpie being eaten by a wild Staraptor*

* * *

So, Lennox gets kind of sketchy when he battles! We'll have to see where that will take him... They will be at the next town by the next chapter, and then things should start heating up a bit... Once I figure out what to write, of course. _ On another note, this is the only chapter where I do not use a mid-chapter page break, lol.

Feel free to comment with criticism, raves, rants, suggestions, insight, and fanart! ^_^ And, as always, thanks for reading!


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